“Is there a problem with that?”
“None at all.” He turned to study the Limerian coat of arms which now adorned the wall, which included the image of a cobra and a pair of crossed swords. “That she has returned in time for the wedding makes me believe she is in no way aligned with these rebels. I would think she would have liked to avoid such a ceremony if she could, even if it meant remaining among their kind.”
“Perhaps you’re right. But she is back. And you should also know that we’re expecting a very important guest for the wedding. The message reached me only this morning that Prince Ashur Cortas of the Kraeshian Empire will be attending.”
The name was well-known to Magnus. “What a great honor.”
“Indeed. I was very surprised and very pleased the prince accepted our invitation on behalf of his father.” The king said this tightly, as if he did not mean it. The Kraeshian Empire lay across the Silver Sea and was ten times the size of Mytica. Prince Ashur’s father, the emperor, was the most powerful man in the world.
Not that Magnus would ever say such a thing out loud in front of King Gaius.
His father was silent for a moment. “There’s another grave matter I must discuss with you. Please come inside.” The king turned to the throne room and entered through the large wooden doors, his hound’s claws scratching against the marble floor as the dog stayed at his master’s side.
Please. It was a word so rarely used by his father that it sounded like one from a foreign tongue. Slowly, he followed the king into the room.
“What’s wrong? Is it Lucia?” Magnus asked, his voice strained.
“No. This unfortunate matter doesn’t concern her.”
The fear that had tightened like a fist in his chest unclenched. “If not Lucia, then what do you need to tell me?”
The king looked off to his left and Magnus followed the direction of his gaze. Upon a marble slab lay the queen, her arms folded across her stomach. She was very still, very silent.
Magnus frowned. Why would she be sleeping in the throne room?
It took him a moment to understand.
“Mother . . .” he began, his breath coming quicker as he approached her.
“It’s the work of rebels,” the king said, his voice low and even. “They were upset that we refused to meet their demands about ceasing construction on the Imperial Road. This is my punishment.”
The queen’s face was pale, and Magnus could have sworn she was only sleeping. He reached out a hand toward her, but clenched his fist and brought it back to his side. There was blood on her pale gray dress. So much. His own blood turned to ice at the sight of it.
“Rebels,” Magnus said, the words hollow in his throat. “How do you know?”
“This was the weapon used. The murderer left it behind.” The king held up a dagger, one with jewels embedded in its hilt, the silver blade wavy. “Such evidence has helped us pinpoint his identity.”
Magnus’s gaze moved from the ornamental weapon to his father’s face. “Who is he?”
“This very dagger once belonged to Lord Aron. It was what he used to kill the wine seller’s son in the Paelsian market—Jonas Agallon’s brother. That was the last time Lord Aron saw this weapon.”
“You’re saying Jonas Agallon is responsible for this.”
“Yes, I believe so. And I also believe that by leaving the dagger behind, he wanted us to know it was him.”
Magnus fought to keep his voice from trembling. “I will kill him.”
ing acknowledged his son with a nod. “You should know that Princess Cleiona has returned to us.”
It was the last thing he expected to hear. “She has? How is this possible?”
“She escaped from the rebels after an attack on their camp last night. She ran into the forest, hid from her captors, and made her way into the custody of my team of guards. She’s shaken, but unharmed.”
This news came as a strange relief. “A miracle.”
“Is it?” The king pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure about that.”
“I was certain they’d kill her.”